


The Sunset Tree

by elsexton29



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Music, Sex, Sexual Content, The Mountain Goats, Triggers, alternative universe, triggering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsexton29/pseuds/elsexton29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is just another child growing up in an unfortunate circumstance. With an abusive father, he had to mature quickly just to keep himself and his sister out of danger. As he grows older, he finds comfort in music, then in alcohol, and finally in women. He buries himself down so deep that he can no longer be hurt.</p><p>It is going to take many exceptional people and one stubborn consulting detective to help him pull out the other side of this pit he has climbed into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broom People

**Author's Note:**

> This is my interpretation of the album “The Sunset Tree” by The Mountain Goats. YOU DO NOT NEED TO LISTEN TO THE ALBUM TO APPRECIATE THE STORY. There was a song that reminded me of my head-cannon for young John. This is my attempt to reorganize the songs on the album and use them as inspiration for a Sherlock AU focused on John's life growing up. 
> 
> The circumstances in this story are taken from interpretations of each of the songs as well as my personal experience. It took me three years after being out of a similar situation before I could write about it.

Another new house. Another new neighbourhood. The same broken family. 

John was eight and this was his third new house. Every time the neighbours became too suspicious they made another move. He was never a stupid boy. He knew what happened to him and his sister was not normal. It seemed unacceptable to other adults, but John also knew what would happen if he told. Another move, another school, and another display of fresh bruises. 

He was good at hiding his injuries, by now. Wearing long sleeves when necessary, or making excuses if he had a black eye. Many of the adults probably regarded him as a violent child who started many fights outside of school. Most wouldn't be able to handle the incredible irony if they knew. 

He knocked lightly on Harriet's door. He heard a sniffle from the other side. “Yes?” 

“It's me.” He whispered. He wasn't supposed to be out of bed, but he had heard a loud outburst that had Harry on the receiving end. 

The knob turned and it inched open quietly. “Get back to bed.” She mumbled through the tears. 

John pushed the door open and stepped through it. He glanced down the hall and closed it behind himself. He took a moment to catalogue the visual damage. When he believed it wouldn't hurt her too much, he wrapped his arms tightly around his sister's torso. His head coming just below her chin as she squeezed him and cried silently into his hair. This was how they worked. One looking after the other. Never minding that Harry was two years older. John took care of her just as much as she looked after him. He never asked what happened. It wasn't important. It wasn't how they did things. What ever it was, she didn't deserve this. 

That night John fell asleep at the foot of his sister's bed. He fell asleep guarding her against something he would never have a chance against. At least he could lessen the blow by putting himself in the way, if it was necessary. 

 

Their mother shook him awake the next morning. John cared deeply for his mother. She always seemed to be gentle with both him and his sister. When their father came at them, John understood that she was afraid, too. It wasn't until much later in his life that he realised how cowardly her actions were. 

“Johnny.” She uttered quietly as she touched his forehead. “Johnny, get up.” 

He bolted upright after a night of being on alert. He looked up into his mother's eyes and knew they had made it through without incident. He smiled sadly. 

“Go get dressed. I have to take you early today. Dad's car is broken and I need to get him to work on time.” She instructed and began waking Harry. 

He did as he was told and walked across the hall to his own room. The atmosphere was chilly from being uninhabited throughout the cold night. He pulled his dresser open and began his preparations for the day. 

When he went downstairs, toast was waiting on him and another piece for Harry. His mother rushed Harry down each step, grabbed her toast, and told them to eat it on the way. 

 

“Are you feeling okay?” John asked huddled in his coat until the doors of their state school were opened. 

Harry nodded as her breath billowed out in front of her like a dragon. John wished that it could be a happier day. A day they could pretend to be dragons or the knights slaying them. He knew that Harry was hurting. She wouldn't want to play for a while. 

He wanted to say more, but didn't. He didn't want to ask about her homework or her friends. He cared mostly if she would be okay. 

Soon enough the doors were unlocked and they made their way inside. They each found their own classrooms and waited until they filled up. They weren't the only children there early, but there wasn't many. 

“Hey John.” Mike, his only friend, said as he claimed the desk beside him. 

John looked up from the spiral-ring notebook he had been staring at on his desk. “Hi.” He greeted. He tried to grin, but his heart wasn't in it. 

It didn't seem to matter. Mike didn't notice. “Did you get the homework done last night?” 

John nodded remembering the twelve problems he solved when he got home the afternoon before. “It was fairly easy.” 

“You think so?” Mike asked pulling his books out of his backpack. 

He shrugged as the class started. He didn't speak again until Mike walked with him to lunch. 

 

When he got called out of class early, his blood felt cold as it pumped through his limbs. He saw his mother in the office with Harry. His mother was smiling and nodding as she opened the door. “Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Watson. Sorry for the confusion.” 

John looked at Harry questioningly, and by the look in her large eyes he knew that it wasn't good. A teacher had noticed and contacted their mother. Harry wouldn't admit to anything. Probably made up a story that she was in a fight or fell down the stairs and their mother would agree with her. That was always what happened. 

His mother sighed as she slid behind the wheel. “We won't mention this to your father?” She asked looking in the rearview mirror at her children in the backseat. 

They both nodded their heads in agreement and she started the engine. 

 

John glanced at his homework. The first problem was a math question involving ice cream. As he stared down at the still blank page, he begin to wonder what it would be like to be frozen. _Would it be peaceful or violent?_ John thought he might prefer it to his life if it was peaceful. He could use a little quiet for a while. 

This was the first, but the not the last time, John thought about ending his life. 

John didn't blame his mother for not taking them away from this, he didn't blame his friend or his other classmates for not noticing, and he didn't blame the teachers for pushing themselves into their business and causing them to make another move. He didn't even really blame his father. That was his father's nature and John believed he couldn't change it. His mother referred to it as a short temper. No, John blamed himself. He desperately strived to be good, and he always seemed to fail. He should have saved Harry. He should have ran out when he first heard it, but he didn't. He cowered in his room and waited until the sound had died down. That was what he was, a coward. A single despicable tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it away forcefully so he could focus on the homework questions in front of him.


	2. Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite gratitude to the lovely [JayyBee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/pseuds/JayyBee) who is putting so much time and enthusiasm into editing this fic. She is simply wonderful.

John wasn't expecting his father to be home that afternoon when he got back from school. He and Harry were talking loudly and carrying in the groceries until they stepped into the living room and saw the figure draped across the couch. Their voices were instantly lodged in their throats and they tiptoed across the carpet. He knew that if he woke his father, there would be hell to pay.

He took in his father's appearance as he moved as quietly as he could. Spit was gathering on the edge of his lip and he could smell the ever present stench of alcohol. He had passed out and he was drinking when he was expected to be at work. By the look on his mother's face, he could tell that she was unaware of his decision to not go to work. 

John and Harriet were told they had to do their homework in their rooms since their father was asleep. They had to be as quiet as possible as they worked. 

He had his desk set up the way that he liked when he was allowed to do his homework in his room. His papers set upon the surface of the desk. His stereo along his right side as to not interfere with his dominate left hand as he wrote. Headphones were snugly over his ears as he turned the music on. 

It didn't take John long to find comfort in music. It was reliable. Always there when you needed it, and could always be turned up loud. He used it as a form of escape, letting his mind wander as he filled in the easy questions with the correct answers. This week they were learning about tetrapods. Biology was John's favourite subject.

It wasn't too long before he had taken out a blank page and was drawing out the story in his head. He was a hero with his own theme music. The last of his kind. A true hero in that he saved people. He wasn't a superhero. He didn't have powers but he was smart and fast and strong. A man to be admired. 

Maybe it was because John was lost in the music or in his own daydream, but he was not aware that his feet had been swinging and kicking the wall. The music was also the reason that he did not hear the loud footsteps ascending the stairs. 

His door was kicked in and he barely had time to cover his face before a fist made contact with his left cheek. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing, boy?” His father shouted pulling the headphones from his ears and slinging them against his desk. “You have no respect or consideration for me.” He swung another punch, this one landing against John's right shoulder. 

John slid down further into his seat and tried to hold back the urge to hold his nose as the bitter smell of whiskey and vomit poured from his father's mouth and assaulted his senses. “I'm sorry.” He begged trying to guard his face again. 

 

“No damn respect.” his father screamed as he shoved John's head back until it crashed into his stereo. 

John's skull ached and his whole head throbbed, but he could only pray that his father would not break his stereo. He wasn't sure he could live without it. He needed the escape the music provided. 

His father kicked his foot as he turned to leave. He exited the room and slammed the door on his way out. 

John could feel the darkness encroaching as his head pounded and he slipped under the waves of the dark sea, the swirling dark ooze pulling him under and drowning him. No - it wasn't the waves. It was his father's hands. Holding him under the water, forcing him to fill his lungs with brackish water. As he was drowning, he thought of the tetrapod. He struggled to gain his freedom, pulling at the skin of his father's arm. He is determined to be the tetrapod. The first vertebrates that walked on dry land. The first creature to struggle out of the primordial ooze that his father is holding him in. He repeats the thought again and again to himself as he takes his last breath of water and dies. 

 

John shoots up in bed and takes a deep breath. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings. He is in his room. It was dark. He was still wearing his clothes. His head felt like someone had hammered the back of it, but he was still alive. He glanced down at his sister sleeping on the floor. He wondered if she was the one who moved him to his bed and took care of him, or if it was his mother. By the state of things, it looked like Harry. He clutched his head as he placed his blanket on Harry's shivering form. He placed his face down into the pillow to stop the room from spinning and passed out again. 

 

“What happened to your face, John?” his teacher asked as he took his seat the next morning. 

“Bike accident.” John lied. He was a good liar. “Wrecked into my sister pretty hard.” 

She went back to looking down at the papers she was grading. She wouldn't question John's explanation to his face. There were already rumours spreading around the school after Harry was called to the office. It wouldn't be long before they started asking too many questions and they would have to move again. 

 

John wasn't able to check on his stereo until that afternoon after he finished his homework. His father had gone to work, and John felt incredibly relieved. He would only have to endure dinner. 

He noticed the bashed in corner right away. He quickly turned it on and music came over loudly through the speakers. Only cosmetic damage. He leaned back in his chair and enjoyed it for a few minutes before his mother poked her head in his room. 

“Johnny. You might want to put on some headphones before your father gets here.” she suggested pointedly. 

He nodded, plugging the headphones into the front and placing them over his ears. He closed his eyes and took a few moments to truly let everything go and to relax. 

 

At dinner, John's father refused to look at him. He would look everywhere except directly at his own son. John didn't expect anything else. He couldn't look at his own work. This was how his father worked. He wouldn't feel guilty about something that “didn't happen”. If he didn't see it, it didn't exist. Until John's face healed up, he didn't exist. 

“Did you have a good day at school, Harry?” Their mother asked avoiding talking to John as to not point him out. She knew how his father coped, too. 

“Yes.” Harry answered simply and stabbed another floret of broccoli. 

“And how about you dear? Was work okay?” she asked, turning to her husband. 

He stared down at his bland piece of chicken. “Work was work. I earn this house you live in and the food you eat. Isn't that enough to know?” 

“Of course it is.” She answered quietly. Chastised - just like she was one of the children. 

John stared at each of them, forgetting his own food. He couldn't help thinking that they were all actors in a play that would never end. At the moment, he didn't exist. He was a spectator to a performance that was never meant to be seen. A private dance preformed by three dogs and their master.


	3. Magpie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much credit goes to [JayyBee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/pseuds/JayyBee) for her vast amounts of editing and wonderful discussions that really allow me to propel this story forward properly.

There are many creatures that were said to be prophets of bad luck. Soon after learning about them in school while studying poetry, John thought he could use them to his advantage. John was fascinated by the black and white pattern of the magpie and used the bird to describe the subtle signs that his father was about to boil over. The small bird was his alert shared between himself and his sister. He would utter it under his breath and she would instantly freeze or take cover in her room. The word was obscure enough that their father never caught on. The warning worked most of the time.

The morning was like any other. He got ready to go, ate his toast and got into his mother's car. Harry climbed in the backseat beside him but, when his mother got behind the wheel, she didn't start the engine. She twisted in her seat to look at them quietly for a minute before speaking. “Would you like to take the day off? We could go do something.” 

John and his sister looked at each other. They knew these days. Their mother was feeling guilty about something and she wanted to make it up to them. John loved the days when it was just the three of them. They both nodded. 

She raised her eyebrows. “No telling your father?” She proposed her terms of a day of no school and relaxation. 

They each agreed. They knew better than to tell him. They wouldn't be able to alter their behaviour in any way. They would still have to be out of the house before he left for work and they would have to be home before he arrived back from work. 

Their mother turned the engine over and drove in the direction of the school in case he was watching. She kept driving once she passed it and eventually pulled into a small restaurant. “How about a good breakfast? Hungry?” She asked despite the fact they had both had toast already.

“Yes.” Harry answered flinging the door open and jumping out. They followed her inside and to an empty table towards the back. A waitress brought them each a menu and John glanced over it appreciatively. They didn't go out to eat. It was his mother's job to take care of the house and do the cooking while his father earned the living. This meant that John rarely had a choice in what he ate, and he appreciated the opportunities when he had some resemblance of control over his life.

They didn't speak until all the food was brought to the table and they began diving in. “Are you going to miss much at school today?” 

John shook his head. “It is easy. Most of it I already know.” 

Harry shrugged. “It won't hurt to miss one day.” 

“What would you like to do after this?” their mother asked taking another mouthful of egg. 

“We could go to the park.” Harry suggested. “It has been a while since we went.” 

John knew not to suggest something that would cost money. His father kept track of their spending. This breakfast was already going to seem suspicious unless his mother took it out of their grocery money. “I’d like the park.” John added. 

His mother smiled and nodded.

 

The park was wonderful. It was an uncommonly warm day. It wasn't sunny, but overcast clouds were just fine for John. They stopped by the store and bought a cheap frisbee to toss around. John would dive after it and his sister would groan when it grazed against her fingers. His mother never complained as she had to go after it every time because neither of them could throw it straight. 

He rejoiced in the feeling flowing through his body. The carefree air and delight that made the state of apprehension he normally experienced seem to belong to someone else. He laughed as he jumped up and finally caught it. His cheeks red from the wind and his hair sticking up at odd angles. _This is family._ He thought to himself. _This is happiness._ He bounced with excitement as his mother praised his efforts

The day ticked by as they took pleasure in each other's company and, for one day, John was actually eight years old. There was no need to be alert for any possible dangers. He simply played. 

His mother had taken a seat on a bench while they played on the slide. Chasing each other up the ladder and falling down the slippery surface in a tangle of limbs and laughter. 

“You can't catch me. You're too short.” Harry taunted as she stood up and dusted off her trousers. She didn't wait for John to respond as she weaved her way under the slide to the grass area. 

John immediately gave chase. He followed the cloud of blonde hair billowing out behind Harry. She screamed every time he got close. His arm was stretched out to try to grab onto the hem of her jacket but she ducked her way through the swings and went to hide behind their mother. 

They ran around the bench trying not to trip over her feet until Harry plopped on the bench. “Base.” she gasped out, laughing.

John put his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “There is no base. I got you.” 

“Yes there is! I am on base.” 

“Alright. Go play.” Their mother shooed them with her hands. “We don't have long before we have to make our way home.” 

John's eyes narrowed, turning their dark blue colour almost completely black. “You can't catch me.” He turned on his heel and ran, not looking to see if his sister was behind him. 

 

When they came home, they quickly tidied up their appearance, careful not to leave any trace that they had spent the whole day outside and not at school or cleaning the house. Harry and John helped with the housework with Harry hoovering as John dried the dishes his mother had washed and put them away. 

They were ushered to their rooms as they waited on their father coming home for dinner. Harry preferred playing with his Action Man more than with her own Barbie, but when she asked for one of her own it ended with a smack across the mouth. Their father was not going to have any daughter of his playing with boy toys. John didn't mind sharing. 

It was in the middle of a large battle where Soldiers Watson and Watson were about to destroy an entire alien race when there was a large rattle from the kitchen followed by their father's booming voice. John watched as Harry froze, her eyes wide and her hand clutching tightly on the soldier's torso. 

John stood, intending to race out to find his mother, when Harry caught his sleeve. Her large eyes focusing on him, willing him to stop, to listen. “Magpie ” she whispered. 

He knew what was going on. He knew what would happen if he went and interrupted. “This is something worth fighting for. Our family is worth fighting for.” He replied without hesitation in his voice. He threw off Harry’s grasp and ran down the hallway. 

He entered the kitchen and his mother was backed against the door with his father shouting in her face, his finger poking her again and again in the temple. “You think you can lie to me? You don't think I know what you’ve been doing? This is disrespectful. Taking the children out of school. How long until you disrespect me enough to go around whoring with other men. Or are you doing that already, huh? Yes, that’s it ….you’re a whore!” he shouted, spit flying out his mouth. 

“Stop it!” John shouted as he pushed against his father's legs. 

“What the fuck?” He spun around on John. “You think you can take it?” His arm reared up and the backside of his hand made contact with John's face. The force was so powerful it knocked him to the ground. John didn't cry. It stung horribly, but tears would only encourage his father's anger. His guarded his face and stayed on the ground. “Stand up!” He growled. “You think you are man enough to take me. Stand up!” He waited, his face getting redder as the seconds ticked by. “Get the fuck up!” His foot swung back to gain momentum as he kicked his son hard in the side. 

“Charles! Stop.” His mother pleaded, but didn't move. 

“He is a man now. He can fight. Stand up and fight.” His father grasped John’s shoulder tightly and pulled him to his feet. 

John screwed his eyes up and covered his face as he took each blow. He was feeling so sick that he just wanted to hug his knees and cry, but he didn't make a sound. Not a single tear fell as he took each punch until his father lost interest when he never fought back. 

When he finally opened his eyes to look at his mother, she was simply staring at him with an expressionless face. She didn't move. Didn't try to comfort him or check his injuries. She just stared. He looked at her disbelievingly as he staggered to his feet and left the room. Each stair felt like a knife searing through his whole body as he slowly and painfully made his way up the stairs and back to his room where he collapsed and let the world fade to black around him.


	4. Dance Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to [JayyBee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/pseuds/JayyBee), who is a wonderful beta and never fails to put her best into everything she does.

When John turned seventeen, they made the move to London to a flat in the busy part of the city. The comings and goings of the Watson family became a part of the tapestry that was the city of London, attracting little attention.

The flat their father could afford was small and crowded and as they were forced closer to each other, temperaments flared more frequently, mostly ending in violent outbursts as pressure built until it could no longer be contained and everything exploded.

John was in front of the television when his father began an argument in the kitchen. A glass flew through the doorway and shattered against the opposite wall. It had been aimed at his mother's head, but, his aim affected by alcohol, his father had missed. His father’s voice booming through the place no longer caused John to cower in fear. Instead, it just pissed him off. He hated the fact that it was still frightening, but he was now attuned to it and accepted it like an old soldier accepts the sounds of gunfire and RPG’s. His father would accept nothing but the behaviour and countenance of a man out of John. He would beat the concept into him, if he had to. 

He made his way up to his room and turned on some music whilst laying in bed. His headphones were blasting near deafening volumes and he was still inching the sound up to cover the rising voices. John had taken to listening to dance music. He didn't prefer it in any way, but it was always loud with the pounding beats being just enough to occupy up all the space in his head and drown out the reality he dreaded facing. 

John had stopped defending his mother two years ago, although he had long stopped worrying about her caring for him. He was in the middle of a particularly brutal beating, taking the blows meant for his mother for disappearing for a time that she couldn't attest to, when his father suddenly stopped. When he gained the courage to look up to see what had stopped his father, he found his father making out with his mother. He grabbed her hand and took her to their room. She didn't even see him as she stepped over his limp form. She was grinning from ear to ear as they shut their bedroom door. She may have done it for preservation, but she seemed more occupied with keeping herself unscathed than worrying about the violence that was being inflicted on her own children. She was scared of her husband and she was selfish. John, however, was no longer the coward. He had stepped between his mother's and his sister's beatings at every opportunity he could. His mother was the coward – she was letting this monster tear their family apart – but he would do all he could for both her and his sister. 

Harry spent an increasing number of her hours away from the flat but their parents didn't even seem to notice. She was nineteen and their father was trying to phase her out. John would hear her through the paper thin walls as she came home in the middle of the night. Drawers and doors banging against the wall between their rooms as she changed and put on pyjamas. He would wait several minutes before checking on her. Every night she claimed that she was fine and he needed to go to bed. She never faced him while she said it. She would lie in her bed and stare at the blank wall. John knew he would be able to read the truth in her eyes, so she never let him see. The one person in the world he had always shared everything with was pulling away from him. He would return to his own room unsatisfied with the answer he had received, but unable to do anything more about it. He could protect his sister here at the flat, but he couldn't follow her around London, although he would try.

It was a particularly drizzly night when Harry didn't show up. At three in the morning, John decided to search for her. He donned his jacket and ducked out onto the pavement. The cold rain dripped incessantly down the back of his neck as he worked through the labyrinth of streets. He passed several people, most on their way somewhere else, their tunnel vision clouding out the rest of the world and only taking note of things blocking their way. 

Walking with his head down, he turned into what he thought was a pub for some respite from the all encompassing cold and damp. When he lifted his head, he realised he was in a shabby hotel.

“John?” He heard a voice from the reception desk as he started taking in the scene before him. 

He looked up from under his soaked hair falling into his eyes. “Cathy?” He asked recognising the girl from school. They were both in History together. “You work here?” 

“No. Just covering for a friend while she’s off having sex in one of the rooms. It looks like I know what I am doing, doesn't it?” She leaned forward and whispered the last part. “It doesn't take much with it being so late.” 

John raised his eyebrows, unsure what to say. He walked to stand across the desk from her. He had seen Cathy at school, but he hadn't spoken to her much. “Just as long as you don't get caught.” 

“Who is going to catch me?” She asked motioning around. “No one comes in at this shift. If they do, I just tell them we are full.” 

He looked around the lobby. It did appear forgotten in an area with too many posh hotels. Not a popular tourist destination. It looked like a place that would charge by the hour rather than by the night. 

“You haven't seen Harry come through here, have you?” He asked as his stomach turned over at the possibility she would be in a place like this. 

“Your sister? No, sorry. I haven't.” She grabbed at his sleeve as he was turning to leave. “Do you mind staying with me and walking me home? I don't want to go on my own.” 

John hesitated for a moment. He nodded, his sense of chivalry overtaking him. “How long are you going to be here?” 

“Not long. It never takes too long.” She muttered as she strained to look down the hall. 

“You're a good friend for coming when she calls like this.” John commented leaning against the desk. The old wood was covered in scratches and most of the varnish had been chipped off. It was right at home with the peeling wallpaper and dusty curtains. 

“You don't have to tell me. She is starting to make a habit of it. This man drops in once a month in the middle of the night and she goes clawing after him like an addict. She never knows when he will show up and she spends most nights here working. On those nights, I get a call waking me up from my sleep to come and cover for her at the desk. At least she pays me decently.” 

John stifled a yawn. He needed to go and find Harry before he fell asleep standing up. He shook his head to clear the fog from his mind. “How old is your friend?” He asked unsure of what to talk about next. He knew Cathy was much too young to be working here at this hour. 

“Twenty-four.” Cathy answered running a fingernail over a deep scratch in the desk. 

He nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “How do you like to spend the rest of your free time?” He asked glancing up from beneath his lashes. He was painfully aware of how pretty she was. 

Her left eyebrow twitched in response. “You could find out yourself you know?” 

He smiled. “I would like to.” 

Cathy straightened her back. John wondered if it was intentional so she could press her breasts out more prominently, or if it was a happy coincidence. Either way, he enjoyed it. Her eyes quirked up at something behind him. He turned to see a tall woman with dark black hair walking down the hallway. Her eyes were droopy and bloodshot in the way that seemed more than just post-coital happiness. 

“Thanks Cat.” She greeted as she made her way to the desk.

Cathy turned towards the door and John followed her obediently. “Don't forget. It isn't for nothing.” She replied over shoulder. They pushed through the door and Cathy instantly hugged herself against the wind. “You should come with me more often to these things.” She mentioned quietly. “It was nice having company.” 

John walked beside her awkwardly. “Hopefully, there won't be another for some time.” 

They turned a corner. “You're new here, right?” 

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his coat. “Relatively. I've been here long enough to find my way around.” 

They walked in silence for a stretch before she spoke. “You were looking for your sister, weren't you?” 

“Yes. She didn't come home tonight. I thought something might have happened to her.” John answered watching the rain as it splattered against her wet hair. 

She nodded. “Isn't she spending a lot of time with that Clara girl?” She asked squinting to keep the water from her eyes. 

John shrugged. “I don't know where she goes anymore. I hardly see her.” 

“We could check Clara's if you want. She lives in the building down from mine.” 

John looked at her astonished. “Do you know everyone?” He asked, partly joking. 

“Not everyone. I just observe more than most. There is little else to do at school. I've lived here since I was a young child. You pick some of it up.” She answered pushing her hair back from her face. “It is actually right over there.” She pointed to a three story building to their left. “If you want to check it out.” 

“If you don't mind.” He smiled.

They walked up to the door and Cathy pressed the call button for the flat on the second floor. There wasn't a name, but Cathy seemed to know what she was doing. “Hello.” A sleepy voice came over the line. John checked his watch. Half past four. 

“Clara, it is Cathy. Can you buzz me up?” 

“Just a moment.” The reply came and a few seconds later he could hear the door click as it unlocked. He followed Cathy up the dimly lit stairs to the door and she knocked. The door opened a moment later to reveal a small woman with chestnut brown hair. Her face was streaked with sheet marks and she was wrapped up tightly in a dressing gown. “Who is this?” She asked as her eyes widened at the sight of John. 

“John Watson. I am looking for my sister, Harry. Cathy thought you might have seen her.” 

Clara leaned against the doorframe. “She was here earlier. She left about an hour ago to go home.” 

John inhaled a deep breath in relief he hadn't known he was desperately needing. “Thank you.” He smiled. “Sorry to wake you.” She nodded in agreement before shutting and locking the door and John started to make his way to the stairs. 

Cathy jogged to catch up with him. “Better?” 

“Yes. Ready to go home?” 

“Very. I'm ready to get out of these wet clothes. Makes me wish I brought an umbrella.” She walked through the open door that John was holding. “I live right over there.” She pointed down the road a little. He said nothing as they closed the final distance and walked her right to the steps. She turned around fiddling with her fingers and looking at him. “Thank you for staying with me tonight. Not many men would have.” 

“No problem.” He said quickly. 

She stepped up to him and her fingers ran through his short, sandy hair. Her eyes seemed to glisten a bright emerald green as her face closed the distance between them. His mind drew a blank as his body seemed to take over. Her breath was sweet and warm against his face just before she kissed him and then It was slippery wet lips. It only lasted for a second, the movement didn't fit quite right and she tasted strangely of chocolate and cherries, but John savoured that moment. There would be many firsts in John's life, but never another first kiss. “See you around.” She whispered and unlocked the door before stepping in. 

John watched her go and remained staring at the door until he could feel the rain soaking through his final layer of clothing. His mind replayed the moment until he reached his own “home”. 

He quietly kicked his shoes off at the entrance and padded his way to the hallway. His fingers carefully turned the knob to his sister's room as he pushed it open slightly. Through the dark he could see her sleeping form. Her back facing him and her short blonde hair tousled behind her in waves. 

He made his way to his own room, shivering as he peeled off his wet mass of clothing, and climbing in bed only to be woken up a few hours later for school. 

 

_____________________________________________

 

The occasions that he had gone out with Cathy in the past six months were never officially called dates. They would eat and talk, or just catch a film. There was something light about their relationship, if that was what it was. She was nice and it was more like hanging out with a good friend rather than being nervous around a potential girlfriend. That didn't mean that it didn't involve all the normal things that came with relationships. They took every moment they could to steal kisses in an empty hall at school or hands were caught by another as they swung between them. Afternoons spent lurking at the park after school. Putting off going home as long as they could. 

John had convinced himself that he knew Cathy. Knew everything about her. She was brilliant. Incredibly smart and had a passion for activity. He loved chasing after her only for the two of them to end up falling to the grass. Her parents were absent, but she didn't seem to mind. She liked being alone, and she liked being with John. But how much can one human being know another? One Saturday afternoon, he found out just how little he did know her. 

Cathy had disappeared early that Friday afternoon. Disappeared during the middle of a class and hadn't been seen again. He spent the afternoon looking for her, checking her flat, the hotel, the park, and even the cinema they liked to go to. He tried to call her again and again, but she never answered. 

It wasn't until three the next day that he received a call. 

“I could use some company.” Cathy's voice was quiet as she spoke.

“Where are you?”

“Home. Come over? My parents are gone.” 

“Be there in five.” John announced hanging up the phone. 

John took in a deep breath as he slipped past his father past out on the couch. It was his day off, after all. Why shouldn't he be passed out drunk in the middle of the afternoon? 

He waited for three long minutes outside repeatedly buzzing up to Cathy's flat. Finally the door unlocked and he rushed up the staircase. The door to her flat was unlocked and he walked in when she didn't answer to find her laying with her head down on the table. Her eyes closed tight and her forehead furrowed as if in pain. His heart rate spiked as he grasped her shoulder. “Cathy? Are you okay?” His hands shaking her slowly. 

She looked up at him with glassy eyes. She seemed to brighten when she saw him. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair seemed to stick out at odd angles. She sat up groping at his face to kiss him deeply. It was desperate and sloppy. Her teeth clanging against his as she moved too close, too fast. Her lips not steady and careful the way they had always been. There was something else in the taste. Something that wasn't Cathy. It tasted like fruit and something bitter. 

He pushed back on her shoulders, breaking their kiss. “Are you drunk?” He questioned, his voice rising sharply. 

“I thought that was obvious.” Her eyes seemed heavy as she dived back in for another kiss. Her lips pressing too hard against John's. Her tongue dancing sloppily in his mouth and her hands exploring the front of his trousers. 

“Stop. Stop!” He backed up against the counter as far as he could. “I am not doing it like this.” 

Her fingers fumbled for the wine bottle behind him as she pressed her body against his. She pulled it up to her lips, taking a long drink, and then she tried to press it to John's lips with the focussed and excessively intent expression of the truly drunk. “Then you need to relax.” 

John nearly choked on the liquid before he slipped from between her in the counter, and took the bottle away from her. He pushed it further down the counter. “What do you think you are doing?” John asked surprised at his own voice rising. “Cathy, why are you drinking?” 

She twirled her brown hair behind her ear. “Loosen up. It is just a little fun.” 

“Drinking is fun? Alcohol and losing control of your mind is fun?” 

Her eyes widened and then became small as if she was adjusting her vision in some manner. “Wow. You are a buzz kill. John, you're seventeen. Drinking is like a requirement.” 

“How much?” He demanded after planting himself firmly in front of the bottle. 

“How much, what?” 

“How much do you drink?” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Does it matter to you?” She seemed so strange like this. Cathy was an intelligent, composed being, but at the moment, she appeared two dimensional. A person he had never met. Alcohol did this. It always did this. 

“It does matter to me. It matters a lot.” He answered, his tone short and clipped. 

“Then go!” She screamed loudly. “If you judge me this harshly after a few drinks how do you manage to accept me after a bad night. They come more often then the good ones.” She confessed angrily.

“I am not leaving you like this.” 

She smacked her hands against his chest until he was backing out of the door. “Get out of here! I don't fucking want you here!” She pushed him back far enough that he was out into the hall and slammed the door. 

He banged on the wood. “Cathy! Just let me in.” 

He heard the lock click into place. 

“Cathy! Please.” 

There was a loud crash of glass against the other side of the door, and then there was silence. 

“Please let me know you are alright.” He begged to the chipping white paint. 

He stood outside her flat for three long hours, listening and trying to detect any sign of movement. Every once in a while he would hear the scurrying of socked feet over the linoleum or the audible sigh. When three hours was up, he decided to make the journey home and his feet moved mindlessly over the pavement, having mastered their path home long ago. 

He walked into a war zone. The place stank of alcohol and boomed with echoing voices. He passed the living room as his father shouted something at his mother angrily. His face was blood red and it was a miracle he hadn't exploded at this point. John continued on past the scene, not flinching, until he arrived in his room. 

Cathy had become more than just a friend. She was the last best thing he had. His whole world and future wrapped up in one person, and he was just starting to notice how rocky their foundation really was. How could he live with the fact that she suffered from the same secret sickness that his father suffered? Alcohol is an addiction and he was forever trying to escape the grasp it had over his life. 

He sat on his bed with his head in his hands as the sounds of violence invaded his consciousness. Invading his life and becoming his life. _Fuck, when did it become everything?_ Anger bubbled in his stomach and he kicked over the floor lamp. It clanged to the floor and the bulb shattered. His hands swiped across his desk spilling the contents onto the floor. 

He didn't hesitate as he stalked to the bathroom and grabbed his mother's bottle of sleeping pills, watching his reflection as he dry swallowed each pill. His face a mask of indifference, stony and cold, he continued until the bottle was empty and made his way back to his room.. 

His fingers slipped over volume control of his stereo. The blaring of music comes over the speakers. _Screw the headphones._ He lay down on his bed and tried to sleep. Attempted to let himself fall into black nothingness. 

He wanted to not be. He wanted to stop his mind. Stop the thoughts. Stop everything. There was no conscious thought of how permanent this stop was to be. He wasn’t being that scientific about it. Just now, at this moment, he needed everything to stop. For once, he yearned after the beatings his father would give him that would allow him to sink into nothingness where he felt nothing, thought nothing, was nothing.

His skin felt hot and clammy, yet cold and shivery. His heart beat slowly, sluggishly, pounding in an almost exaggerated manner against his chest. His stomach roiled and began to heave, threatening to expel its contents at the slightest provocation.

His eyes closed and his mind finally allowed his body to give up. The music filling his ears and his head and his chest, pulling him under the murky and dank dark water in a slow motion drowning. At that moment, nothing seemed more boring than breathing. 

Time stretched and flexed, turning in on itself before rolling out again and it felt like long hours, yet could have been moments when he struggled up for a moment from the deep sea to which he had given himself. The only sense he could gain was the sharp whine of sirens over the loud bass of dance music. It was then that he realized: _I don't want to die alone._


	5. You or Your Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My infinite love to [JayyBee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/pseuds/JayyBee) who has put up with multiple drafts of this chapter and helped me through many things in this story emotionally. It would not be possible without her.

John had heard stories of people in hospitals. Everything from people having out of body experiences, waking to the smell of disinfectant, or opening their eyes to see a room of people gathered around with eyes filled with worry. He didn’t experience that. He could hear the faint steady beeping before he could work his eyes open, but he was aware of where he was. He blinked as light flooded his vision and his gaze was still filled with the fogginess of sleep. There was an ache deep in his neck, like he hadn't moved in days, and he felt strangely hungry and empty. His arm pulled at the IV as he tried to stretch to get to the pain radiating from his neck to desist. 

His eyes explored the whiteness of everything. The whiteness of the room and of the door. The whiteness of the bed and the whiteness of his own clothing. It took several minutes before he even noticed the small figure curled up in the chair close to the bed. Cathy's head was resting on her arms folded over the arm of the chair. Her feet tucked underneath her in what looked like an uncomfortable manner. 

“Hey.” John croaked as his dry throat strained against his words. 

She groaned, unfurled and sat up to look at him. She yawned and covered her mouth as she tried to speak. “Hey.” She replied shyly. That didn't sound right. She was never shy. 

She reached across and held out a drink of water and helped him get the straw into his mouth. He relished the sweet freshness of the liquid as it eased his throat. When he had had enough, he pulled away from the straw and she put the glass back on the bedside tray.

He closed his eyes as his most recent memories started trickling into focus. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “Are you okay?” 

She tentatively reached out for his hand. “Yes.” She paused for a moment looking down at their hands which lay entwined on the white sheets. “I am sorry.” 

John squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I am too.” He couldn't help but think that they were about as broken as two people could be. There was only the comfort in trying to press their jagged edges together to make a whole person, even if they didn't fit exactly. She knew his secrets and he knew hers. 

“Harry was here earlier, but had to leave. Your father didn't seem to want her here.” She mentioned quietly as she picked at a fraying string on her jeans. 

John nodded. “How did you get in here? Don't they only allow in family?” He asked knowing his father wouldn't give his permission and his mother wouldn't go behind his father's back. 

She looked at him under long lashes and her face flashed a mischievous grin. “Do you really doubt my ability to get something that I want?” 

He thought back to the occasions when she had flaunted her brilliance. He couldn't think of a single person who could argue with her logic - even if it was occasionally ever so slightly against the law. 

“Harry told them that I could go in.” She explained, when he didn't answer. “I think your sister has taken a liking to me.” 

He took a deep breath to stop himself pointing out that he doubted she would if she knew what had driven him to his current state. He didn't want to talk about what he had found her doing. He never wanted to see that again and perhaps they needed to have that discussion if there was going to be a future for them, or perhaps what had happened was best left in the past, but for now, they would avoid it. It was too soon, too sensitive, for both of them. 

She smiled tentatively at him, suddenly unsure, but then seemed to reach a decision, jumped up and headed for the door, saying she would let the nurse know he was awake. And the moment was gone.

_____________________________________________

 

Two weeks after he had been released from the hospital, he was starting to feel that things were reverting back to normal. He felt that he and Cathy had avoided the conversation for long enough that it would never be an issue. His teachers stopped treading lightly beside him as if he was an active landmine and just kept their distance. His father was now ignoring his existence completely instead of casting disappointing looks down on him. Harry was still disappearing at all times of the night, but he felt better knowing where she was stalking off to. She had spent the day he returned from the hospital curled up on the floor beside his bed, but he hadn't saw much of her since then.

“When are you going to tell me about your father?” Cathy asked from her perch on the back of the bench that lined the walkway. This was a favourite haunt of theirs, covered by the shade of the trees and quite private, yet still out in the fresh air, able to watch the other people in the park wander by and make up stories about them. This sudden change of topic threw John for a second.

“What about him?” He asked. He leaned against the backrest but avoided looking up at her. His eyes staying focused on the patch of faded green grass opposite him. 

She took a moment before speaking and he could tell she was trying to determine the best words to use. “Why do you never talk about him, you never talk about either of your parents yet you chat about Harry constantly. He avoided visiting you in the hospital and he was the reason you reacted like you did that night.” 

 

“You don't either.” 

She crossed her ankles and her knee brushed up against his shoulder. “You know, though. They are never there. They send enough money to live on. What else is there to know?” 

He exhaled loudly and pushed his fringe off his forehead. He really did need a haircut. It wouldn't be long before his father started berating him for looking like a girl. “But you know as well.” 

“I know about his drinking and I assume he has other issues by his reactions whilst you were in the hospital, but I don't know how it affects you. You have seen how I deal with my abandonment issues. You've witnessed first hand how I deal with it.” 

He rested his head against her warm thigh and closed his eyes tight. Her fingers stroked through his hair soothingly as he tried to block out the images which flooded into his mind. “I don't want to taint this. I don't want to put this on our relationship, Cathy, or whatever this is. I want all that to go away when I'm with you.” 

He felt a warm breath on his ear and then lips pressed against his temple. “This is a relationship, John. God help me, it is all I have.” Her voice became softer as she spoke. “I know you’re worried you will become him, but you won't. You're not your father. You are so much better. Whether you ever drink, or not, you couldn't do what he does to you. I see it in the way you act. Your heart is much too kind to ever hurt someone.” 

John began to tear up, but luckily he was facing away from her. Her words hit him somewhere deep. No one had ever said it before. No one had ever cared enough to comfort him. Even his own mother didn't see what this one person had and he had only known her for half a year. Unable to speak, he just nodded. 

Cathy simply stroked his hair while he took the time to gather himself. Her steady breath and soothing fingers a focal point for all of his attention. Almost until he could no longer think of anything more. 

“I think Clara has a thing for your sister.” Cathy uttered, breaking his reverie, an amused and lighter note in her voice. 

“What?” He asked sitting straight up and staring at her smiling face. 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Think about it. They are constantly together, alone in a flat, and two girls. They couldn't possibly have that much to talk about. I've seen the way they look at each other. If they aren't fucking, they need to be.” 

John grinned stupidly. “Huh.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I never thought about that.” He shook his head quickly. “I do not want to picture my sister in those situations. Whoever it may be with. Way too much information, thanks! And I am going to have nightmares.” He reached out playfully to gather her to him, accepting the change of conversation gladly.

Cathy kissed his mouth sweetly. “No you won't. You'll just be happy for her.” 

“You're right.” 

“Usually am.” 

_____________________________________________

 

John exited the building from his appointment with a hospital recommended psychiatrist following their after school session. His parents wouldn't even admit that they had existed. His mother closed down any time he had brought it up to her, and his father wouldn't even speak to him, in the first place. He preferred to go alone, and he always knew what would be waiting for him right outside the door. 

Cathy caught him up and grabbed his hand as he moved through the large entryway. “Plans?” She questioned moving closer to him. 

“You mean other than being with you?” 

“Good answer.” She laughed pulling him in the direction of her road. 

He checked his watch. “I actually do need to study. I can't stay long.” 

“It is a Friday. I think you can afford to wait on the studying.” 

John sighed, with fond exasperation. “Not with the way you plan our weekends. I need to study. It is my one ticket out of here.” 

“And what do you want to do with your life John Hamish Watson? Is London all that bad?” 

_It is with my father here._ “You don't want to come with me?” 

She pressed her shoulder against his. “Depends. Where you going?” 

“I don't know. Everywhere. Uni somewhere and then travel. I want to see things before I die.” 

“You're not dying any time soon. You're only 17.” 

“Almost 18.” 

She giggled. “Ah yes. A year closer to the end. You are such fun to have around. Just like an old man.” She pushed open the door to her flat and he stepped in. He had been back here several nights and always noticed how she kept her own little habit out of his sight. He greatly appreciated that. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked sitting down at the table. 

“Of course.” She replied dropping her bag to the floor and stepping over it to head to the kitchen to make tea. 

He twiddled his fingers for a beat before speaking. “Why do you do it? What does the alcohol have to do with your parents?” This was a question he had been pondering for a while, but it never seemed like an appropriate time to bring it up. He just had to do it. 

She waited until she handed him his own cup and joined him before speaking. “The way I see it is you can choose between you or your memory. If you are capable of dealing with the crushing weight of your thoughts and emotions, then alcohol really isn't necessary. I was never able to deal with the pain of my mother constantly running after some new man she needed and my father leaving after hearing I was born. Neither of my parents wanted me. I decided to use a little medication to help me cope. Alcohol was easy to get a hold of and it helped me to forget for a while.” 

John nodded and took a sip of his tea. “I think I understand it. There may be issues of my own conflicting with it, but I do think I understand it.” 

She stood and pushed his chair away from the table, the legs making a horrible screeching noise on the floor. He watched as she climbed onto his lap and flipped her hair over one of her shoulders. “Thank you.” She whispered as she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. Her warm, wet tongue moving with practiced efficiency. Her teeth tugged at his bottom lip. He nuzzled down to her neck where he began kissing the faint beat of a pulse beneath the skin. He tested the area with his teeth and drew a moan from Cathy. The sound caused a glorious rush of blood to his groin so he tried it again. 

After working a slightly purpling mark into her skin, John rested his head against her shoulder and tried to gather all his strength. He groaned unhappily. “I should go. I really need to.” 

Cathy's teeth nibbled his ear. “Are you sure?” She questioned, her voice low and alluring. 

He kissed her shoulder and pulled back. “Yes, or I won't be able to leave.” 

She cleared her throat. “Okay. You will be missing out.” She teased. 

“I believe it.” He smiled kissing her once more. 

She stood and allowed him up. “Call me tonight after your family goes to sleep?” 

“Yes.” He swung his bag over his shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow.” John headed towards the door and closed it after him. It took all the strength he had to not go back inside, but Cathy was not conducive to a learning environment. They would end up spending the evening on the couch watching telly after they had snogged each other senseless. He would save that for tomorrow, when he had the whole day. 

The walk home was calm and peaceful, but the scene he walked in on when he opened the door to their flat was everything but. He could even hear the sounds of fighting as he approached the door, and threw open the door in a panic. “What is going on?” He asked, spotting his mother reading at the kitchen table as if nothing was going on, her gaze focussed firmly on the newspaper in front of her. 

When she didn't answer, he followed the noise into the living room. There was his father standing over Harry. He was nearly twice as large as she was and his arm swung down to hit her square in the jaw. Without hesitating, John grabbed his father's fist as it pulled back for another blow. His father's other arm swung around and knocked John backwards. His focus switched to John as he completely forgot about Harry. 

“The big man thinks he can take my alcohol, too?” His tongue stumbled over his words as he made an attempt to hit John. 

John's hands blocked his shot. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Harry squealed when their father's fist connected with John's ribs. John's breath rushed out of his lungs, but he refused to double over. His father set up to use the same blow again, but John dodged it. He knew it would only make it worse, but he was sick and tired of being ignored. He was a person and he should matter. He wasn't a shadow that had to go undetected. 

“I thought you were a big boy now. Big enough to take his stupid mother's pills. Just like you sister. Big enough to steal booze from her old man. You both are disgusting thieves.” He grumbled loudly. 

John's mind staggered to a halt with a thud he was sure his father and Harry should have heard - the realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. Harry had stolen their father’s alcohol. She had disregarded their entire childhood and indulged in the very thing that he believed had destroyed their lives. His face grew warm as his blood pressure rose. He was angry. So bloody angry.

His father’s arm swung back for another go, uncoordinated from the alcohol he had already consumed, but John pushed him backwards and watched him tumble to the ground. His foot struck his father's balls and he watched as his father covered his crotch and dragged himself out of reach, swearing under his breath. 

John wasn't sure what he was doing to do or where he was going, but he had to get out of there. He began to walk out the door, but then noticed the keys swinging on the hook by the door. His fingers closed around the metal and he slammed the door behind him. He ran. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him out of his building and towards the old beat up van in the car park. He turned the engine over and pulled out haphazardly, thankful that he had managed a few unofficial lessons from mates. He wasn't even legal to drive, but he didn't care. At this point, he just wanted to get away. 

He watched his father stagger into the car park just as he pulled out. His foot slammed on the accelerator in an attack of nerves. It was nonsense to think that his father could catch him now, but no one could have explained that to his foot at the moment. 

He drove. He drove for hours. Fortunately the petrol tank was full as he didn’t have much money with him. He wasn't sure where he was going; only that he needed to get out of London. The air around him was completely silent as the scenery slipped past him. The only noise coming from the low roar of the engine. 

He wondered if they would come looking for him, if they would call the police and report the van stolen, or if they would just be glad he was gone. As the time passed, he finally allowed himself to be angry. Angry at his father for hitting his own children, angry at his mother for allowing him to do it, and angry at Harry for choosing the same path their father did. 

John came across a small petrol station, and stopped to use the public pay phone. His fingers dialling the only number he could think to call. 

Cathy picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” 

He cleared his throat not sure what to say, but she stayed quiet, forcing him to speak. “Cathy. It’s John. Something’s happened.” 

“Are you okay?” Her voice worried. 

“Yeah, I'm alright. I had a fight with my father. . . I took the van and left.” He leaned his forehead against the edge of the phone's case. 

“ _JOHN._ What happened?” 

Tears welled in his eyes and his chest seemed to want to collapse in on itself. His fist punched the wall the phone was mounted on as he choked out. “Harry has been drinking. Dad’s found out she’s been stealing his booze and was beating her.” 

The silence confirmed what John already suspected. She knew how his father was. She fucking knew everything. 

“Can you get here?” She asked, softly, after a short pause. 

He shook his head. “I don't think that would be a good idea. I need to stay out of London, in case they are looking for me.” 

“Do you have money for a hotel?” 

“I think I saw some floating around the van.” He answered quietly. 

“Get a hotel room and call me, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“I love you, John.” 

He stopped. It was the first time either of them had said that. The strangeness of the situation almost made it seem inappropriate. “I love you, too.” He did. He really did. 

_____________________________________________

 

John sat on the bed. It was harder than anything he had previously slept on, but it was inexpensive. He needed inexpensive. He had checked in and called Cathy using the landline in his room. She was on her way, and gave him a list of supplies. 

“Aspirin and wine? Are you serious right now? I can't do this.” He argued. 

“Do you want my help or not? Just trust me.” He could hear her moving around as she spoke. Probably getting ready. 

“I do trust you. I just don't think that alcohol will solve my alcohol problems.” 

“You would be surprised. You are not your father, John. We're not going to drink much. You don't have to drink it at all. It is for me. You or your memory, remember?” 

He sighed, unsure of what to do. “Okay.” He mumbled. “I'll go.” 

“See you soon.” She responded and hung up. 

John slipped his trainers back on and headed out the door. It was already starting to grow dark and chilly outside. He pulled his jacket around him tightly as he made his way to the nearest shop. It wasn't much. Just a few aisles filled with necessities. It was completely empty except for two other customers and the cashier, who were all talking loudly at each other. This allowed John to slip in unnoticed and grab his two items. 

He stood nervously behind them in line. The older one had light skin and his blond hair was unruly as it was pushed back away from his face. His back was clad in a black leather jacket and even his jeans were dark. The smaller one didn't look any older than 15. His skin was an unhealthy translucent colour and a mop of dark curls spilled down his neck. 

The larger one's voice rose. He had to be at least in his twenties. His accent was incredibly posh and along with his arrogant stance screamed money and privilege. John tried to wait patiently until the smaller boy decided he had enough and left. The other followed close behind. 

“Sorry about that.” The lady behind the counter apologized. She seemed to be flustered and didn't even glance at John's items as she rung them up. 

He shrugged. “It happens.” 

John took his purchases back to his room and spread them out on the bed. 

Could he do this? 

Somewhere deep within him there was this increasingly strong desire to conquer the substance that been such a huge part of his life - had in many ways controlled and dictated his life - and to come out on the other side in victory. He had to know he could do it, leave behind once and for all the shadow of fear that one day he would succumb to it, be another victim of it. 

He couldn't explain it. Hell, he could barely even think it about it, but there it was. A primal need to confront and over come his fears. 

The moon shone in brightly through the curtains and John shut them as he waited for Cathy to arrive. He flipped off the light and lay back on the bed. It was hard not to relive what he had done. How he had turned on his father. 

What kept whispering from the dark places in his mind was the comment that he hadn't needed any assistance to become a monster. _It was self defence._

But it wasn't, was it? He was angry and hurt. He was just as pathetic – and at least his father had been drunk, as usual. He couldn’t even use that as an excuse.

If he could just make it through the night, it would get better. He would be better.


	6. This Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I thought it was time that I told my busy life to pause for a bit while I wrote the rest of this story. 
> 
> Unfortunately procrastination has caused me to lose contact with my wonderful beta and I felt guilty if I was to message her again about editing my story, so this is my attempt at editing it solo. I would like to give one last little bit of love to [JayyBee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/pseuds/JayyBee) who was great to help me through 4 of the chapters. 
> 
> Please keep prodding me to finish this, if I fail to update at least once a week. I want to get this done. The more love it gets, the faster I want to work on it. If there any mistakes that bother you, please let me know and I will fix them.

John hadn't been aware that he had even fallen asleep until he heard a loud thump that had him bolting straight up in bed, ready to fight anything that was coming at him. He paused a moment listening until the noise repeated itself. There was knocking on the door. He climbed off the edge of the bed and opened it, rubbing his eyes as Cathy came into focus. 

“Goodness, John. I've been out here knocking for five minutes.” She greeted him and hauled her bag into the room. “Did you get it?” 

“Get what?” He asked, still slow from sleep. He peered out into the dark sky before shutting the door. 

Her fingers must have found the light switch because the room was suddenly filled with a brightness he previously thought that the sun was only capable of. “Ah.” She sighed as she sat down next to the stuff he brought from the store. She opened the bottle of aspirin and put two on her tongue as she swallowed them down with the wine she expertly screwed open. He didn’t want to think about how incredibly cheap it must be to have a screw top instead of a cork. 

“What is the aspirin for?” He asked as she put two in his hand. He just held on to them. They felt too familiar. They brought too many memories back from a night that seemed like it was only minutes from repeating itself. 

She toed her shoes off and crossed her legs on the bed. “Rumours say that it increases the effects of the alcohol. We don’t have much to drink, so I thought they would help.” 

John stared down at the small pills in his hand. They were two seemingly harmless objects, but he could feel his stomach churning as he thought about putting them into his mouth. His mind kept turning over his failed attempt at a dreamless unconsciousness that almost killed him. His memory providing the sheer panic he felt as his mind became dizzy and he felt like he was going to vomit. He can remember the weight that every inch of his skin felt crushed under tremendous force, as he couldn’t move. His body finally realizing something was going wrong and tried to reverse it by making him throw up. He remembered worrying about choking on his own vomit, but his body was paralyzed and unable to prevent it from happening. It was at that moment that someone came in and rolled him on his side. He couldn’t help but think it was Harry who then called an ambulance. No, dying wasn’t romantic like the media portrays. It is disgusting and you have to fight really hard to do it because your body doesn’t want to die. 

He handed the aspirin back to Cathy. “I think I’ll start small.” 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She took another swig of wine before passing it to John. “Better get started.” 

John copied her movements as the bitter taste of something resembling strawberries rolled over his tongue. What was worse than the taste was the immediate rush of disgust. Not disgust of the wine, but disgust of himself. The disappointment with what he had become. He felt lower than his father. Running away and participating in the activity that he held personally responsible for destroying his life. Out of desperation, he took another much larger drink, panicking about what to do. He just wanted his prejudice to disappear. Just for the night. He passed the bottle back at Cathy. 

She raised her eyebrows at him, but didn’t comment. She just took a drink and gave it back to him. He could feel her studying him as he swallowed another mouthful. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

He shook his head. “Nope.” He took one more before handing it back. He had to admit that it was helping. His head was beginning to feel warm and just the slightest bit fuzzy around the edges. The events of the evening were beginning to matter less and less. 

“What are you going to do about it?” She asked as she passed the bottle back without taking a drink. 

“Not really a concern of mine right now.” 

She ran her hand along her leg. “Don’t you think that it should be?” 

John took a deep breath. “I asked you to come so that you could help me forget earlier this evening, not to put me in a worse mood. I don’t demand answers out of you when you’ve gone a binge because you’ve thought too much about the fact your parents don’t care enough to be home with you.” When he spoke, he didn’t yell, or even raise his voice. He said it as calmly as if he was talking about an assignment at school, but he knew his words carried poison with them. He hadn’t realized how much until a single tear ran down Cathy’s cheek. It was at that moment that the weight of what he said felt like it was crushing his chest. His arm reared back and he threw the bottle as hard as he could against the wall. 

Cathy was startled as it shattered into tiny pieces against the wall opposite them. She looked at him with a stunned expression on her face. She almost looked frightened and unsure of what he would do next. _I did this._ He slipped his arms gingerly around her and kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

She nodded. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” 

He paused for a moment as he let the severity of what just happened sink in. This felt worse than any hit he had to take before. It was worse than the worry of when he couldn’t find Harry. “I love you, Cat.” 

Her arms tightened around him cautiously. “I love you, too.” She looked up at him, and she was almost back to her old self. Her smile taking up most of her face in a way that made it look forced. “You know that is not the only way to forget about everything else.” 

He knew what she was referring to and was fully aware that he shouldn’t be allowing this after his behaviour, but his brain was fuzzy and this was Cathy and he did love her. “Oh is it?” He played back. 

She straddled his legs. “I can show you another way.” Her lips grazed the edge of his jaw as she spoke, and the smell of sickly sweet flowers she always seemed to carry around with her flooded his senses. 

Had he had not drank nearly three-fourths of the bottle of wine; he felt that his reaction would still have been the same. They were ready for this. It had been coming for a while. At least, that was what he would tell himself in the morning. Currently his body was giving all the right signals, and there was no possible way he was going to be able to refuse. “I would like that.” His whispered. 

The smash of lips came in desperate spurts as they played off the emotion flooding the room. The ache to drown in each other was more powerful than the real desire for anything physical.

John pulled on the hem of her shirt until it was completely over her head. Her hair fell around her shoulders and seemed to caress her skin on its way down. His fingers clutched her legs as he lifted them both to spin and place her on the bed. She fell against the pillow with a smile and he took the opportunity to ravage her exposed skin. His lips making small feather-light kisses over her upper chest and then onto her stomach. His eyes appreciating every inch of exposed olive tone flesh.

Her fingers raked through his sandy blond hair as he came level with her again. “You sure about this?” He asked quietly; afraid if he spoke too loudly he would scare the moment away. 

She nodded through half lidded eyes. John kisses her unhurriedly and his thumb caressed her cheek.

Her fingers moved down the warm expanse of his back and quickly pulled the shirt off. She smiled mischievously as her fingers played with waist of his jeans. His breath caught in his chest as she began unfastening the zip. _It was happening._ She didn’t begin to pull them off, instead leaving them open as a tease. 

Soon, his entire mind seemed to focus on how to rid her of her bra, but was unable to contemplate a situation that he got his hands beneath her to work on the clasp. Even then, he wasn’t sure he could manage to work it open without looking. 

She giggled quietly as she noticed where his attention had turned. He must have looked hopeless because she sat up and completed the task for him. John didn’t allow himself to look yet. Instead, he resigned to stare at her face and her knowing smirk until she was spread out on the bed below him. 

When he did look, he tried his best not to groan out loud as desire seemed to pool itself somewhere deep in his stomach. Before him lay what he could only dream of as the most beautiful sight he had ever experienced. Cathy’s deep brown hair lay around her like a halo, and her emerald green eyes seemed to glow in contrast to the harsh light that filled the room. Her skin seemed to roll in perfection down to where his attention was now completely consumed. Her breasts were like two flawless hills resulting in a soft peak at the nipple. He stared for a several minutes before gaining the courage to take one into his mouth. The sensation seemed strange, but entirely pleasurable. Her soft flesh gave way easily to his lips and her nipple rolled easily against his tongue. He nuzzled into her skin. She smelled less like flowers here, more earthy and alive. 

His fingers caressed down her stomach and stopped right above the zip of her jeans. He pulled away, and looked up to her for permission. She nodded quietly, and John tried his best to steady his hands while he tugged them down. He worried that this didn’t seem to be instinctual to him. He thought it would just come naturally, but he couldn’t stop questioning his every action. 

He stood to finish taking off his own, and hesitated taking off his pants. It seemed like a ridiculous notion. Of course she would see and know. They were about to participate in a very intimate action. _Sex._ He forced himself to think. He was about to do it, so he better be man enough to think the word. Finding his resolve, he tugged his pants to the floor and climbed back on to the bed gently. 

Any fear he was experienced was soon replaced when Cathy grabbed at him and pulled him into the bed next to her. Her lips moved expertly across his as she turned on her side and rolled her hips against his. She swallowed down his groan as her skin made contact with his own.

She pressed her weight against him until he was lying on his back and she was balanced on top of him. Never once breaking their kiss. His fingers glided over the smooth skin of her back to her arse. He squeezed it experimentally and felt her muscles moving beneath the last thin fabric separating them. 

She ground up against him and bit his lip playfully. She pressed her forehead into John’s as she spoke. “Be right back.” She seemed to vanish off of him, with only a brush of her hair against his chest, before he had even had the opportunity to react. 

He rushed air into his lungs as an attempt to calm down. If he didn’t calm down, this would be over way too soon. He tried not to watch as Cathy grabbed something from her bag, but was unable to really tear his gaze away for long. 

She once again held his full attention as she stood just out of arms reach and removed the last piece of clothing. John took in the full image. The unbroken expanse of skin that he desperately needed to feel, but he seemed to feel frozen in place. His brain told his muscles to move, but it was like they were in protest. 

Cathy didn’t seem to notice as she kneeled beside him and revealed the prize she retrieved from her bag. The square was unmistakably a condom. _Jesus._ His brain hadn’t even gotten there yet, but it wasn’t slowing Cathy down as she ripped the package open and grabbed his cock. 

He bristled at the first actual touch that it had received. His teeth were wrangling his lip into submission as he tried to drown any noise threatening to escape from his throat. He wasn’t even aware of how his hand ended up on her back, but he was just happy that he didn’t seem too frozen. 

She straddled his hips and playfully nipped down his neck. “Are you sure about this?” He asked so quietly he wasn’t sure that his voice made the slightest sound. She nodded and kissed him sweetly once again. 

The next moment, he was just glad someone was in charge of their facilities, because he surely wasn’t. It all seemed to happen like a flash of lightning. Her fingers caressed down to his cock and primal need seemed to grow deep inside of him. He closed his eyes unable to take in both the sight and the sensation at once. This inescapable hunger was eating him from the inside, as all he could focus on was her hand, until it wasn’t her hand. There was heat and pressure and _ohmygod_. He rolled his hips up and his eyes flashed open to take in the sight before him. It was almost too much and he just about lost it right there. 

His head fell back as the tight warm heat moved over him just slightly. He watched her face, as they seemed to gain their rhythm. Her expression magnificent as her eyes were squeezed together tightly and her mouth opened slightly just to revel a small sliver of pink tongue. 

He felt his own eyes slip closed as they moved faster. A ripple seemed to be building in his lower stomach. The waves were crashing against an invisible shore.

Fingers were grasping at every miniscule of flesh he could reach. His actions were no longer intentional and careful, but clumsy and uncoordinated. 

“John.” Cathy moaned, as she tried to capture his lips in a messy kiss. 

To hear his name uttered that way only pushed him closer to the cliff that he was desperately trying to avoid toppling over. 

It wasn’t until he felt her clenching around him, did he allow himself to look again. Cathy’s head was tilted back and her breath came out in spurts. Her breasts bounced gracefully against her chest and she moaned louder and louder. It felt like opening up the floodgates. He barrelled over the edge of the cliff as the world around him went fuzzy as it moved too fast and his ears rang with the sound of the whipping wind. 

His lungs seemed to fight against his chest for air. She pulled off of him and slumped down in bed beside him. Suddenly his mind was on alarm and he quickly binned the condom and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her face again and again. “Are. You. Okay?” He questioned between kisses. 

She looked at him through half lidded eyes. “More than okay.” Her arm snaked around his side.

He smiled warmly and allowed himself to be pulled further into her. It was here that he found solace and escapism from the rest of the world. Here drowned in the skin of the one he loved was the best way to run away. 

_____________________________________________

 

John awoke with a start by shouting. He nearly jumped up out of bed. Ready to retaliate if necessary. 

It took him several moments before he could even remember where he was, or how he got there. His eyes glanced over to Cathy’s sleeping form while the voices drifted in from outside. 

It was here that he came to the realization that he had been postponing. He would have to go back. He couldn’t allow his future to be pulled from him because of one angry outburst. He had to face his consequences. Somewhere a door was slammed shut and the shouting desisted. 

He shook Cathy’s shoulder. 

She turned sleepily and smiled up at him. “John.” She mumbled and reached out for him. 

He cleared his throat and gave her a few moments to wake up. “We should go.” 

“Go?” She asked and her brow furrowed together. 

John brushed her hair back from her face. “Home. We can’t keep running. I just have to make it through this year, and I’m free. We’re free.” 

She pressed her face into his chest and her breath felt warm against his skin. “You don’t know that. We haven’t even tried to keep running.” 

He kissed top of her hair. “Please. Can we just do this before I change my mind?” 

“Alright.” She replied coldly. 

They each dressed and John went to check out the room while Cathy finished putting her things away. 

“Ready?” He asked as he poked his head back in. 

She nodded and they made their way to the car park. No one had spoken, but the silence was shattered as they approached his van. John stopped in his tracks. 

The shouting belonged to the blond man in the leather jacket that he had happened upon in the shop. “Fuck! Do you have any emotions at all? You’re a freak! An inconsiderate dick.” He barrelled out at his much younger companion who had taken to leaning against the wall and looking wholly uninterested. The man rushed at him and pinned him against the bricks. “Do something. Get angry.”

John had barely recognized that he had moved, but he had somehow ended up behind the man. “I think you need to step back.” John spoke loudly. 

“Fuck off.” The man spat and returned his attention to his friend. 

“I really don’t think I will.” John replied pushing him off. The man charged at him, and it was easy to see how incredibly high the man was. The man’s hands pressed into his chest, but John had the benefit of his short stature and kicked the man’s feet from beneath him. It didn’t take much to disable the attack. He had been on the receiving end of many much worse with only the dream to take out the man larger than him. 

“Call your posh brother. You’re not worth my time.” The man mumbled as he struggled to stand and made his way back into the complex. 

John adjusted his jacket. “You alright?” He asked the boy with the dark curls. 

He nodded, not uttering a word. 

It was obvious that he was just as high as the other man. There was hardly any colour left to his eyes, but his actions didn’t seem as frantic. “Let me take you home. You shouldn’t be out here alone.” 

This was the first time that his eyes focused on John. He looked to be analysing him. Looking for a reason not to trust him. 

“My girlfriend and I are headed back into London, but I can take you where ever you need to go.” He motioned to the van and Cathy standing beside it. He realized how strange it seemed to be picking up a stranger, but John couldn’t just leave him 

The boy shrugged and pressed off the wall to follow him. 

“We’re going to take him home.” He said quietly as he approached Cathy. 

She looked at him wearily, but didn’t protest. 

“So who was that guy?” John asked looking at him in the mirror. He could hardly see his face for the dark mess of hair. 

He sighed. “Victor.” It was the first time he had spoken and the voice didn’t seem to match the small creature that uttered it. 

“How old are you?” 

He swore he heard the boy roll his eyes, even if he couldn’t see them. “Fourteen.” 

_Damn._ “How old is Victor?” 

The boy huffed. “I would really rather not have the lecture. Especially since you are also running away from your problems and attempting to numb the pain with alcohol and sex. At least I am curing my boredom.” 

Okay, no talking. 

_____________________________________________

 

John was apprehensive while approaching his front door. It was the middle of the night. The worst thing he could possibly do was wake up his father at this hour. All lights were off, so that was a good sign. His feet moved as quietly as possible over the floors as he moved down the hall to his own room. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as he crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him.

He had just pulled his shirt over his head when the door to his room cracked open. 

“Johnny?” His entire body became alert as he heard Harry’s voice. She sounded like she was just a girl again. He turned to watch her entire, and the sight made his chest go cold. 

Harry had streaks running from her red eyes from where she had been crying, an ugly purple bruised eye, cracked lip, and she moved in such a stiff manner that he knew the visual injuries weren’t the only ones. 

“Oh my God!” He uttered, rushing to pull her into a hug gently. 

She tucked her face into his neck. “Are you back?” 

His hand caressed her hair in an attempt to soothe her. He nodded. “I’m not leaving you again. I’m so sorry.” 

She sobbed against his skin and shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault. It's not.” Her arms tightened around him. 

Anger was near to the tipping point. He was ready for something, anything. He couldn’t just sit by. “Where’s Dad?” He questioned, looking for the source of the anger to release it on. He was no longer the dog his father had beat into submission. He fought back. He wouldn’t see this happen again. Harry was his family, and he was going to protect his family. 

“He took Mom’s car and left.”

“Where did he go?” 

She shrugged. 

“Alright. Let’s get some sleep.” He encouraged and allowed his hands to fall from around her, but still guided her to his bed. He slipped his shirt back on, and sat down beside her lying form. He stayed in place as she fell into a fitful sleep. His eyes trained on the door, and his ears straining to hear any sign of movement. This wasn’t over.


	7. Lion's Teeth

John jumped from his half slumbered state as the bed shook. He took deep breaths, remembering it was only Harry. “You okay?” she asked, her head poking from beneath the blanket. 

His eyes returned to the door. “Yes.” 

“You didn’t sleep.” 

It wasn’t a question, but he still felt it needed an answer. “No.” His hands scrubbed at his face. If anything, the late night vigil only made his rage grow. “Dad still isn’t home.” 

Harry nodded. “Call me a coward, but I think I’m going to take off before he gets here.” She explained as she got to her feet. “I’ll be at Clara’s.” She kissed the top of his head. “Thank you for last night.” She left the room and he could still hear her movements through the wall as she got dressed.

He stretched and ventured into the rest of the house to check on his mother. She was shuffling slowly around the kitchen. She didn’t say a word as he walked into her line of sight. Just kept preparing two mugs of tea. 

“Dad here?” He questioned, unable to believe that he missed him stumbling in. 

She finally turned to him. He wasn’t going to continue to act like he didn’t exist because she was ashamed. He was her son. She needed to start acting like a mother. “In the car.” 

John didn’t even bother with shoes as he stormed out the door, hearing his mother calling after him, but not registering what she was saying. This was ending. Something had to be done, and he had to do it. 

He was ready to pummel forward. Take on whatever his father would throw at him, but what reality provided was much easier than he could have imagined. His father was pressed against the window, passed out in another drunken stupor. 

He would have liked to believe that he was protecting his family when he crawled in the front seat of that car, but he wasn’t. Protecting his family would be calling the police and telling them about the beatings and about driving drunk. He could have put him in jail for long enough to get Harry and himself to safety. No, it wasn’t protection that had him reaching up over his father’s mouth and nose and clamping down on it. It was something much darker. 

All he had to do was hold on. 

He couldn’t pass up this opportunity. 

His father’s body started to struggle as he began to burst into consciousness. His arms flailed in an uncoordinated mess and his eyes shot open. They stared right at John. Full of fury and rage, but there was something else there, something that never seemed to inhabit his features before. There was also fear. 

His hand connected with the centre of the horn and it blared out loudly making John’s ears ring. His other fist dug hard into John’s stomach, knocking all of the air from his lungs. He doubled over, and his fingers slipped from his father’s face. 

“You’re going to regret the day you were born!” His father shouted leaping at him. 

The last view he was offered of the outside world before the fist clouded his vision was his mother running out into the car park followed by Harry. His sister’s fists pounded on the glass and her screams were barely audible as he covered his face to block the next blow. 

He thrust his foot roughly into the ribs of his father and scratched at the handle of the door. His fingers pulled on the hard plastic, but he couldn’t pry it open before his father had hold of his shirt and was pulling him back. 

He heard the lock click into place and knew it was unlikely that he was going to get out of here. One of them wasn’t making it out, and chances weren’t on his side. 

He summoned his energy and focused it into a hard punch to his father’s oesophagus. He made a throaty gargle, but didn’t relinquish the hold he had on his son. His fingernails dug deep into the flesh of John’s throat. His thumb was pressing down to control his breathing. His vision was already starting to black out around the edges as his father continued to punch into his side. His struggling arms and legs barely made an impact on the man who was nearly twice his weight. 

His hearing long gone, he tried to focus on one thing, the deep blue of his father’s now murderous eyes. He just had to hold on, and not black out. Blacking out meant that he couldn’t fight back. 

And he fought with all he had. His hands and feet moved in his desperate attempt. His vision was nearly gone as he felt a rush of wind, and the pain around his neck started to subside. He had finally passed out and allowed his body to go slack. 

 

_____________________________________________

 

There were voices. Many voices. His brain felt heavy and he wasn’t sure that his neck could support the weight anymore. When he peeled his eyes open from their sticky shells, he was staring at the ceiling of his mother’s car. There was almost a buzzing from the amount of movement he felt around him. Black figures were dancing around the edges of his vision. He could still feel the prodding. 

“You’re back with us.” A voice pierced the buzzing. “You were only out a few minutes. Excellent.” 

He forced his eyes to focus and the EMT came into focus. He tried to push himself up on stiff elbows and swallowed a groan at the protest of his ribs. 

“You feel up to moving. We need to get you checked out properly.” He same small man asked. 

He nodded desperately looking around for his father, but only catching the sight of the broken glass. They must have pulled him off. 

He followed the EMT to the back of an ambulance where he was instructed to sit. “Is this a common occurrence?” He asked as he lifted John’s shirt over his head. 

John looked over to where his sister and mother were watching behind the crowd of people. How could he reveal what they worked so hard to keep secret? 

The man watched closely. “Don’t worry. I just need to know if there were any pre-existing injuries.” 

He watched his fingers. They were raw from scrambling to find anything to hold on. He was ashamed. He didn’t want to tell this stranger that he had been too weak to fight back. That he allowed this to carry on for nearly 18 years. He nodded almost imperceptibly.  
He expected a look of disdain and judgement from the man, but never received one. 

“Can you check out my sister, too?” He spoke for the first time and his voice sounded as if run against sand paper. 

“Of course.” He motioned to one of his colleagues and they allowed Harry entry into the area. 

She ran full force towards John and didn’t stop until he was pulled in for a hug. He grunted from the pressure, but hugged her back. “You look almost as good as me.” She joked. 

He smiled up at her. 

“It’s over.” She whispered in his ear as she sat down beside him.  


God, how he hoped it was true. 

 

_____________________________________________

 

“What?” Harry shrieked after they returned from hospital. John had gone to his room to change into a fresh pair of clothes, but he could hear her all the way down the hall. 

He walked into the kitchen just as his mother’s voice carried from the living room. “He can’t stay here. He got your father thrown in jail.” He stopped and all the blood from his body felt as if it had drained out onto the floor. 

“Are you that much of an idiot! He was trying to kill John.” Harry’s voice just seemed to escalate. 

Their mother was silent for a few minutes. John had thought she had agreed with Harry. Wishful thinking. “How do you expect to live? We’ll have no income. We’ll lose the flat. We’re going to get your father off this. No charges pressed and John has to go. Charles won’t stand for him still being here.” 

He didn’t wait until his mother broke the news to him. He simply packed up the belongings he deemed essential until Harry found him nearly finished. 

Her eyes glanced from him to his pack and back. “You heard.” 

“Yes.” 

She shook her head. “She is a lunatic. You can’t go.” Tears started forming at the corner of her eyes. “You hold us all together. You can’t leave.” 

He swung the bag on his shoulder and squeezed her shoulder as he passed. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He hesitated before continuing. “Get out. You need out, too. This environment is toxic. Find Clara. Get a place together.” 

She chuckled and wiped her cheek where a tear had escaped its confines. “You know about Clara?” 

“Of course I do. You’re not the best at hiding things from me. Just don’t let Dad know, and don’t stay here. He’ll be back. He always comes back, and he won’t be happy.” 

She pulled out a small stack of money. “At least take this with you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Please. Take this one thing. Please. I’m the one who is supposed to look after you, but all these years you’ve acted like the older one. Just let me do this for you. ” 

He took them from her and pushed them deep into his pocket. “Thank you.” 

“Where you going to go?” She asked, unable to give up her position blocking his exit. 

This was a questioned he had pondered while he prepared to leave. He could always stay with Cathy, her mother was hardly ever home, but he couldn’t let himself rely on her like that. Instead he thought of his aunt. His father’s younger sister had grown up with his behaviour. He felt she might take him in for a year before he went away to university. “I’ll phone Aunt Ann. She may have an idea for me.” 

Harry squeezed him tightly. The last hug he would receive from her in almost a decade. If he had known then, he might have clutched a little tighter or memorized her face one last time or told her that he loved her. “Call me when you find out.” She instructed. 

He nodded, and solemnly made his way out the door.


	8. Dilaudid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving in and finally posting some chapters. I was going to finish this story and then post the chapters, so I wouldn't have any excuses, but I need some motivation. I'm just going to push these out unbetaed because if I allow myself any excuses I won't finish it (If you see a mistake that really bothers you, just let me know and I'll fix it). Don't let me lie to you and tell you I don't have more to publish because I've written to Chapter 11. 
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long to get this far. Job, fiancé, and wedding planning got in the way. 
> 
> I hope someone somewhere is still interested.

“Do you know Mike Stamford? He came up to me asking me how you were doing, today.” Julia asked through the bathroom door.  
John picked lint from the quilt covering her dorm room bed. “We went to school together a very long time ago, and we lost touch a long time ago. I never expected to run into him again. I wonder how he knew who you were.” He answered, bored.  
“Are you ready for our exam over narcotics?”

“As ready as I can be.” He replied staring at the clock. It had been twelve minutes that he had been waiting on her to get ready for their date. “And how are you coming?” He asked feigning interest. They had several classes together since she was training to become a doctor, and just the newest girl to catch John’s eye. 

He heard some things being moved around beyond the wooden barrier. “Dilaudid has been giving me some trouble.” Not really what he meant, but he supposed he really didn’t specify. “It’s some sort of pain reliever, right?” 

“Hydromorphine. Analgesic. For mild to severe chronic pain.” He informed automatically. “You’ll do fine if that is the only one giving you trouble.” His eyes turned toward the sound of the door opening and were greeted with the sight worth waiting for. Julia’s golden hair fell around her in soft ringlets. Her tight black dress had pushed her breasts so high up that they formed two perfect mounds peaking from the accenting neckline. 

“Are you sure you want to join?” She questioned, drawing his attention back to her face. She sat beside him and looked truly concerned. 

He shrugged running a hand across her shoulder and to her neck. He felt almost predatory as he leaned into the kiss. His heart beating out loudly as adrenaline pulsed in his veins. There was no denying what he wanted and he was just praying she would kiss him with her mouth open. He petted her as he tried to get her intensity level up, as well. 

Instead she just pulled back. “Is there really no other option?” She mumbled slightly out of breath. “It’s just that, I love you.” 

_Pretty soon you won’t._

Love never lasts. It has become disgusting as people insist on doing things that are impossible. Like a chicken insisting on trying to fly when physics has already deemed it impossible time and time again. 

Pleasure was something real. Their reliance on the sexual aspect of their relationship won’t last for too much longer, so why hold back? He wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. 

“John Watson, what hurt you?” She said pityingly as if she was privy to his internal thoughts. She shook her head and placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “Dilaudid a narcotic used to treat post operatic pain. Sex is your dilaudid.” 

John cocked his eyebrow at her audacity. True or not, he doubted he would ever hear it spoken out loud. “And does that bother you?” He questioned forcefully. Daring her to continue with her analysis. 

“No. Despite being used, I care for you.” She stood up and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go. We’re already late.”


	9. Song for Dennis Brown

John stares blankly ahead as he gazes across his mate’s few possessions. 

Years have hardened John. The military doesn’t make room for emotions. You lose a patient, take a few moments to feel sorry for his family, and move on to someone else who needs you. Someone alive.

This was different. This was his one close friend. The one soldier he didn’t force to have a nameless face. The one who squeezed their way into John’s defences and never left. 

After he was shot in the head, his possessions were going to be returned to his family. Some anonymous private was to be tasked with the job of haphazardly bagging his things and throwing them into a pile with any others who had suffered a similar fate, but John insisted he would do it. No one argued with the solemn Captain. 

They weren’t supposed to see battle. They were doctors. They were to hang back and the wounded would be brought to them. Never going out on the front lines. Just one of many lies used to coax them into signing up to travel to this hell with nothing but miles of blazing sand, countless screams, and piercing bullets. 

Leo was the odd man out. Spending his youth in America, he never really lost his accent and tended to venture into strange customs. His fascination with American Football and his whining for a ‘good cheeseburger’ was just the tip of the iceberg, but John supposed that was part of his charm. He was the underdog and John could never really leave anyone who needed him. 

_____________________________________________

 

“So you like this guy, just because the way he died?” John asked as he held up the photo of Dennis Brown. It was another arid dry day followed by a dreadfully cold night, and they were cramped in a small space discussing nothing of any great consequence. 

“No, man. His music is great, too. The best Reggae music you’ll ever find.” Leo defended himself. “He had passed two years ago, and I still think about it.” 

John scanned the picture of the man. It was a black and white photo and he was sporting dreadlocks and a large smile above his guitar. He couldn’t help but wonder why when they were only allowed to bring so little, that Leo chose this above everything he left behind. “Okay. Death is upsetting, but why bring him all the way here?” 

Leo shrugged and took the picture. “The way he lived his life and how his death occurred makes me think.” 

John waited for him to elaborate. 

“He overdosed on coke and his lungs collapsed. This man was an idol for many. Held in the highest honour by thousands, hell, even Bob Marley. Still, when he died, little changed. Rain still poured down and the sun still shone mercilessly across the planet. Children still sang at school and homeless people still had to dive into dumpsters to get a much needed meal. It makes me wonder what will it take to bring me down. Will it be coke, a ruthless woman, or maybe an enemy on the battlefield? When it does happen I want to care as little about it as those homeless people do about the stench of those dumpsters from where they get their meal. If a great idol like Dennis Brown can be taken down so easily and mourned by so little what chance do I have? What right do I have?” Leo finished as he stared at the dirt below his feet.

“That’s mental.” John responded, good-naturedly. “Why would you think about that here?” He nudged him with his foot to get his attention. 

Leo smiled, taking it for the tease that it was. “Puts things in a little perspective.” 

“This war won’t be the end of you. You’ve spent too much time playing that America football for them to actually hit you. You’ll just dodge and tackle them.” 

Leo grinned. “Here’s hoping.” 

_____________________________________________

 

John took that black and white picture of Dennis Brown and stared it down. Yes he was changed. His skin had grown tan and his short sandy hair was bleached white from the sun. His muscles had grown in bulk. He was no longer that defenceless short kid, any more. As much as his physical appearance had changed, he was still John. As much as he wanted to deny it or drown it in his new favourite distraction, he couldn’t. His eyes began to ache as he ripped the picture in half experimentally. Then he ripped it again and again. He didn’t stop until Dennis Brown was no more than a jigsaw that was too complicated to ever be reassembled. 

A tear made its way down as he finally allowed his eyes to close. Grief wanted to rip his chest open. John gasped as he held on to those tiny pieces for dear life as he fell to his knees with a sob in his throat.


	10. Up the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably the hardest for me to write. I was unsure whether to follow the series, or create what I wanted to happen. I probably rewrote it 3 times before deciding not to rewrite the scenes we already know so well. This could easily merge with the series, and if you would rather picture it that way, you shouldn't read any further.

John breathed in deep. London. He would know that smell anywhere. Even with the sound of the airport rumbling behind him, he could still hear the traffic buzzing in the distance. The sound of cars and of people who have no qualms over whether he lives or dies, was just out beyond his reach. 

He slung his bag over his shoulder and tried not to stumble as he was still getting used to using his cane. Soon he would have to start his psychology sessions as well as continuing his physical therapy. 

John started the trek out of the building and came upon the rows of cabs waiting to take people to the far reaches of London. He quietly climbed in the back of the closest one and gave the address for a meagre bedsit that was set up and paid for by his army pension. 

He was thankful they thought about the stairs when he went to get the key to his room on the ground floor. “Ta.” He murmured to the young clerk behind the front desk as he turned to head down the direction that he directed. 

He followed the dank hall until he saw the door marked 27 and it opened easily enough with the key he now possessed. There wasn’t much, just a desk and a single bed. He supposed it was a step up from his living conditions in the army, and he wasn’t one to complain. 

_____________________________________________

 

“And have you been in contact with any of your family?” Elle Thompson, John’s new therapist, questioned. 

He sat back in his chair uncomfortably. He was here to deal with the trauma of being shot, not stir up past family problems. “Not exactly.” 

She flipped up a page in the folder she never seemed to put down. “It says here that you have a sister as well as a surviving mother and father.” 

He nodded slightly. “Yes.” His eyes blinking a little too quickly to properly be perceived as comfortable. 

“And this isn’t the first time you’ve been appointed to go to a psychiatrist. The last time was when you were a teenager. A suicide attempt?” 

“Well, not ex –” John started. 

“There was no support during those sessions as well.” Ella continued as if he hadn’t spoke. 

“What does this have to do with being shot?” 

She crossed her legs and put on her best ‘caring’ face, but John could tell it was practiced. “A support system is important in any recovery process.”

John had enough practice at hiding the whole truth. “We’re not exactly the closest family.” 

“Were they the cause of your previous suicide attempt?” She asked calmly as if working off a checklist. 

“What? No. It was a trivial adolescent relationship.” He had no intention of giving her any actual information, but he really didn’t want to steer the conversation down that road. 

He nodded. Her dark eyes scanning her page as she made notes. “There was also an incident with your father that ended up in an altercation and another trip to the hospital?” 

“Jesus! What all do you have in there?” He demanded, getting frustrated. 

She took a deep breath, which he supposed he was supposed to emulate subconsciously and calm himself down. “It is pertinent that I am aware of your full medical history to properly treat your entire mental state.” 

He sighed heavily and adjusted his cane leaning against the chair. He hated the damn thing. Now he carried around a sign of his physical weakness. All his life he had worked to rid or at least hide the weakness from the curious eyes surrounding him, and yet now he had to carry it around as some sort of beacon. _Here I am! Yes, I’m fucked up. I was shot in the shoulder and yet I have a limp!_

Ella adjusted her watch. A trick John guessed that was used to check the time without being obvious that she was watching the clock. She didn’t have to worry about offending him. He was counting the seconds until he could leave. She scribbled down ‘further study needed’ into her notebook. “I want you to start writing a blog about your experiences since returning. It will act as a temporary support system and you might be more open to writing than speaking aloud at the moment.” 

John nodded. He would probably agree to anything to escape. 

“I would also like to see you again in a week’s time. Does that sound acceptable?” 

_Do I have a choice?_ He nodded reluctantly and stood to leave. 

“Oh and John.” She interrupted as he was making his way to the door. “I am not the enemy. I’m here to help.” 

“I am aware.” He replied as he closed the door behind him. 

_____________________________________________

 

The sound of gunfire filled his head as the smell of dirt and blood clouded out his lungs. Men were somewhere nearby shouting. His eyes peered over a short wall. It was the only thing that was separating him from a horde of bullets. Anxiety pierced its way through his entire being as his eyes scanned for any injured. 

There was one down the wall. Crouched and grasping his leg. John turned to his right and ran to his comrade. He worked quickly as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding. 

There was a whistling sound past his ear and then a huge weight knocked him forward. The feeling of a fire hot brand being pressed into his left shoulder and the sound his own screams drove out every other sensation. 

John gasped for breath as he drove upwards in bed. 

_Dream. It was a dream._

He rotated his shoulder experimentally as he crashed back into the mattress. 

Tears came to his eyes as he tried to fall back asleep. They were tears for his pain, tears for his lost friend, tears for his stolen life. He buried his face into the pillow, hoping that with any luck it might just smother him during the night. 

_____________________________________________

 

John stared at the screen of his laptop. His blog pulled up, but not a single word written down. He knew Ella would be furious if he didn’t have something to show for his week. He could make something up couldn’t he? 

His fingers were balancing over the keyboard, just as there was a knock on the door. 

_If it is the neighbour complaining about noise again, I’m going to be pissed._

He struggled to his feet as he made his way over to the door. He flung it open and was honestly surprised at what he found. It was a small woman with short blonde hair. Her eyes didn’t seem as blue as he remembered and her face wasn’t as full as it once had been, but he would know her anywhere. “Harry?” 

“Hey, baby brother. I’m here to take you out for lunch. You haven’t eaten have you?” She asked pushing into his room. 

“Um. No.” He looked around at his small accommodations and then down to his cane embarrassingly. “How-how did you find me?” 

“I’ll tell you over lunch. Come on, I know a great little place around the corner.” She replied walking out the door that John was still holding open. 

John watched as she disappeared around the corner. “Wait.” He mumbled reaching for his keys and wallet off of the desk. He rushed after her the best as he could, and found her waiting outside beside the street. 

“Ready?” 

He looked at her for a moment in disbelief. “What are you on about Harry?” 

She motioned over her right shoulder. “Trust me. Are you coming?”

“I suppose.” He finally replied as he headed after her. He was grateful she didn’t seem to be walking at a slower pace for him. Actually, she seemed to ignore his limp completely. He didn’t want to be looked down upon, especially from her. 

_____________________________________________

 

“So how did you find me?” He questioned after the waiter left with their orders. 

She unwound her scarf from her neck and placed it on the chair next to her where her bag and coat already resided. “Called the army, and asked for an address. Said I was your only relative and needed to look in on you.” 

“So this is you ‘looking in on me’?” He asked slightly agitated. 

“Of course not. I know you, of all people, can take care of yourself. I just wanted to see you. It’s been a long time.” 

He nodded. “Yes. I suppose.” 

“Eight years, John.” She paused looking into his eyes. “You look good.” She smiled brightly, but he could tell she was hiding something of her own. 

“Thanks. I am good, considering.” It was strange this dance that they had seemed to be doing. They were all grown up. No longer needing to look after one another. Now there was a need for a façade. Everything is fine.

She took a drink of her water. “I heard. The hero.” 

“How could you possibly know?” He questioned. 

She put the glass down. “Social Media. Nothing is private any more.” 

“But I’m not on any social media.” 

She shook her head. “No. Mom is. She got a notice when you were shot. She went on a rave about her little war hero.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest in disbelief. “Why? Why would she do that?” 

Harry shrugged. “The only image that matters to her and Dad are how other people see them. As long as it looks like they will get pity or credit for something, they will take it. You should feel good. They never brag about me, their little lesbian whore.” 

“I would rather they forgot my name.” He spoke quietly as the waiter brought them their food. 

She pulled her napkin into her lap and arranged her silverware without a real idea of where it should go. “Yes, but that doesn’t look like it will happen.” 

He ate in silence and became increasingly aware of how little he knew of this one person who once knew him better than anyone else. 

“Do you ever hate them?” Harry asked, cutting the silence. 

“Who? Mom and Dad?” 

“No. Not them. You have to hate them. I mean the teachers and our neighbours and our friends? Everyone who knew something was going on, but never had the courage to say something? Some times I even think they may blame us. Thought we deserved it or we should have stood up for ourselves.” Harry’s words rushed from her lips. Like if she didn’t get them out, she wouldn’t be able to share them again. 

“No one deserved that, Harry. We were children.” He picked his way through his food. He hadn’t had much of an appetite recently. “I do blame them, sometimes. There are just things that I think I’ll never be able to forgive.” 

“Do you blame me?” She asked soberly. Her eyes never once left John’s. 

“What? No. Not you.”   She nodded. “I should have done more. You were the youngest one. I should have saved you.”

“You couldn’t save me. No one could save me. I don’t blame you for not jumping into my altercations. I’m glad you didn’t. I could take what he gave. It made me not fear him anymore.” 

“I guess we all have our skeletons.” Thought seemed to cloud her eyes and she continued with her meal. 

“We all do.” He responded picking a bite off of his crust and watching his sister. 

As she finished up, she fished something out of her bag. “I want you to have this.” She replied handing over a mobile phone. 

“What? No.” 

“I need to know that I can get a hold of you. Take it. For old time’s sake.” She pushed it in his hands, and he had a flash back to when it was a small stack of notes. That was probably once all his sister had, and she had given it to him. 

He turned it around looking at it. Obviously an expensive present, but it was a bit beaten up. He flipped it over. “Clara?” He questioned the engraving on the back. “The same Clara?” 

She nodded gathering up her things and putting her scarf around her neck. “We split up 3 months ago. Divorce is seeming like the only available option.” 

“Divorce? I didn’t even know you were married.” John responded as she set down plenty of money to cover the bill. 

She shrugged. “Suppose we should have called.” She half smiled, and stood up to leave. She made her way out of the restaurant and John watched her walk down the road through the window. 

He gathered himself and stood uneasily on his own feet, his hand reaching out to where his cane was resting. He dropped the phone down into his pocket, and it felt like a grenade, a burden heavier than he was quite ready to face. 

_____________________________________________

 

John took to frequenting that restaurant. He wanted to tell himself that it was simply because it was nearby and had decent food, but John never ate. He sat with his cup of coffee towards the front of the restaurant and gazed out the large window. Maybe it was the last place he really felt like someone cared. He would never admit it out loud, or, god forbid, to Ella. At night, when he sat alone staring at the darkness, sometimes he could let himself realise. It could only be for a minute. He’d pull out the phone his sister gave him and stare at the engraving on the back. He hardly ever used it. He didn’t have much need for it. He wouldn’t bug Harry. She had her own life and would come to him if she needed him. Even though he knew better. Harry was as stubborn as he was. They’d each live their separate lives. 

John continued to stare through the window out on to the sleepy street. They say London never sleeps, but they’ve never seen the side roads of London at four in the morning. Hardly anyone is walking down the rain soaked pavement, and cars move slowly by as if they have no where they need to go. 

The waitress came to refill John’s coffee, and he smiled up at her gratefully. She was one of those people that are “pretty in the right light”. Maybe if he was younger, if he could walk, he would ask her out. Once, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Now, he could see the pity in her eyes. She’d never cut him off. He would be allowed to sit there for hours. He hated the pity, but pretended not to notice. 

John’s heart crashed around inside his chest as there was a flurry of coats and fabric. As if materialising out thin air, there was a man sitting across from him. 

“Bloody Hell!” John exclaimed as he attempted to get his pulse under control. 

The man grabbed John’s phone from the table and pretended to text. “Shhh!” He hushed, his eyebrows knitting together. “It would be best for the both of us, if you really didn’t speak.” He hunched forward and almost looked like he became a different man right before his eyes. 

“What do you think-“ John started, but a glare from those icy blue eyes peaking over his phone, silenced him. 

He was locked in a staring battle, refusing to back down when a loud crash from the kitchen startled him. He glanced towards the kitchen door and the man rose to his feet. 

“Ta.” He exclaimed and took off out the front door in the same flurry of dark layers that he had arrived in. 

John watched as a rather large, beastly man ran from the kitchen out the front door. He blinked several times, trying to make sense of what just happened, staring at the empty table before him. 

Then it hit him. That force of recognition, like being slammed to the ground. The table was empty.

_That bastard has my phone._

John jumped to his feet and ran in the same direction as the monstrous man. He rounded the corner at the end of the block. The only audible sound was his feet slapping against the wet pavement in an even rhythm. The icy rain pelting him in the face as he pushed himself to move as fast as he could. 

He ran three blocks before stopping to get his bearings. His trained eyes glancing in every direction for indication to where the duo went. There was a sound of movement to his left, and he turned to look down a dark alleyway. He took one-second to consider, and then shrugged and took off into the darkness. 

He stopped in the shadows as he watched the large man come out in to the light on the main road. The man’s head swaying back and forth in confusion. He moved to the left, with an unsure gait. John knew now that the man had lost who he was pursuing. 

John examined the dark alley way the best he could. John wasn’t much for clues. He simply ran on instinct, and his instinct wasn’t pulling him away from the alley just yet. 

He was watching a mouse scurrying from a skip as he heard a loud creaking and then a clang that vibrated through his body as fire escape stairs smacked against the pavement from above. 

“Better than most, I have to admit.” The tall slender man from the restaurant walked towards John and held out his phone. 

John snatched it out of the air. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

The man circled him, making him feel more exposed than he felt comfortable. “I’m glad to see the cane wasn’t a permanent attachment.” He expected to see a look of disgust or distain, but the man appeared wholly uninterested. 

John glanced down at his leg, which didn’t seem to be giving him any pain and attempted not to look surprised. He looked back up at the man with the dark curls falling into his face. “Have I met you before?” 

The man raised his eyebrows and leaned against the brick wall. “I don’t believe so.” 

John bit his lip and nodded. “Are you out of your mind? What was all that?” 

The man smiled. “A bit of excitement. You looked like you needed some.” 

“I’ve had enough excitement thank you. Enough for a lifetime.” 

He glared back at him, unconvinced. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes, and there is something interesting about you.” 

He knew he should leave. This man tried to steal from him, for god’s sake, but there was something holding him there. Intrigue. He shook his head. “There is nothing interesting about me.” 

“I disagree. Come along.” Sherlock pushed off the wall and headed in the opposite direction than the large man had gone. 

John knew he shouldn’t follow. He knew he needed to head back to the restaurant and get his cane, instead of following this man into the depths of London. While his brain knew this, no one told his feet. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and strode after him as he wound his way through the streets that didn’t appear to make much sense to John. He started to wonder whether or not this man was crazy, when he stopped in front of a building with a closed sandwich shop on the bottom floor. He pushed open the large black door and held it open for John to follow him inside. 

_Maybe I’m the crazy one._

He stepped in to the small space and the door was shut behind him. Sherlock took up the steps, two at a time. John followed, refusing to be left behind now. 

Sherlock flung his coat across a red arm chair. “I think it will be beneficial to both of us.” 

He tossed something at John and he reflexively caught it. He stared down at a small silver key. “What-“ 

“Rent shouldn’t be a problem between the two of us. There is an extra bedroom upstairs.” 

John wondered if he seemed to be several conversations ahead of everyone else or just him. “I’m confused. I never said anything about needing a place to stay.” 

Sherlock turned and really looked at him again. He never really glanced at anything. It was more of a glare. “A wounded army doctor, recently released from duty. This has to be better than the bed sit.” 

John took a step back like he had just been slapped. “Did Harry put you up to this?” His face getting hotter by the second. 

“No, not your brother. I observe. Your brother with marriage troubles and a drinking problem wouldn’t be able to find me. Like I said, I find you interesting.” 

John pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are out of your mind. What makes you think I would ever live with you?” 

Sherlock smiled. It wasn’t a practiced smile. This one touched his eyes. John would later learn, the way he looked when he first received a new puzzle. It almost felt like a lung full of fresh air that he hadn’t had since he arrived back in London. Everyone had been so careful around him. Sherlock stepped on the back of what looked like expensive shoes to kick them off with disregard. “Because you find me interesting to. Whether or not you want to admit it, you need a little excitement in your life. I’m going to shower. If you refuse my offer, just leave the key on the table and take off back to your boring life. If you’re here when I get out, then we’ll both know.” He ran fingers through the massive amount of curls as he walked through the kitchen into what John assumed had to be the bathroom. 

John shifted his weight from one foot to another as he heard water starting to run. He should leave. Leave all the crazy and just forget about this night. He didn’t need this. He had endured enough in his life. Why would he put himself through anything else? 

He still found himself batting the idea around in his head when the door opening startled him and a figure wrapped tightly in a bathrobe headed in his direction. “I suppose we both know.” He said with an air of superiority.


End file.
